Manus Veritatis
by irkalia
Summary: A young woman casts aside everything, eager to please the Legion above all else. M for violence and a general lack of morality.
1. De Novo

Struck with random inspiration for a story far different from my other one (Ain't That a Shame). Please note: the main character isn't the Courier. Said character is also kind of _crazy_ and not all that nice so keep that in mind. M next chapter. Things are gonna get bloody fast.

I don't own Fallout, its setting, its characters, etc.

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I. DE NOVO

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The blade felt sharp on my skin, each stroke sounding off a delightful scrape as it went over my scalp. The grip of the metal was hot in my hands now. Took a long time to do this, a fact I had forgotten in my years of needless vanity. I set the razor down on the edge of the chipped basin and turned the knobs of the faucet until the thin trickle of water came out, lukewarm on my hands, somehow colder on my head and neck. The mirror was cracked and barely attached to the wall but it served its purpose, showing me my new guise. My hair lay in the sink and at my feet. It seemed longer off my head than it had been on. I hadn't shaved my scalp since I had been young, very young, attempting to fit in with the boys at the orphanage. And now it was time to pretend to be a man again.

The binding was a much faster process. Once I brushed the stray hairs from my bare shoulders, I dug through my pack for a roll of gauze. A false start with uneasy fingers, then the real thing after learning from my mistakes. The bandages were tight over my chest, but that was the only way. I could learn to deal with the discomfort. I stared for a while, admiring my work. It was convincing, I hoped. This had been a long time coming. Traveling aimlessly for so long searching for a sign, for any hint of guidance, and then I had spotted the smoke rising up a ways off.

Legion.

I had heard of it but had never witnessed its wrath. Not until this morning, when I ventured into this town, air heavy with death, fires still burning despite their makers being far gone. Tales of its conquests spread far and wide, and I was infatuated. The power, the sheer unapologetic forcefulness. An army worthy of worship. Its misogyny was an unfortunate side effect of its vigor, and was something that I intended to bypass. I had longed for a calling, one that suited my nature, my… forward way of dealing with things, and I had come to the Mojave to find it. I wasn't about to let gender get in the way. Of course attempting to join the Legion outright would be foolish as a woman, so I would simply have to make a name for myself otherwise.

I pulled my dark shirt over my head and the gauze disappeared under the fabric. Leather came next, a suit of makeshift armor that I came across in some town a ways back. A heavier set would have been ideal for my up-close methods, but that would also hinder my movement, which I put great value upon. Speed often won out over brute force in the wasteland, and if nothing else it allowed me to run away faster if necessary. Plus, metal plates did absolutely nothing for stealth.

Steps creaked under my feet on my way back to the first floor. The general store had been ransacked entirely but its bathroom had been relatively intact, enough for my needs. That man in the main section of the shop had spoken to me when I initially entered, then had yelled when I ignored his pleas for drugs and mercy. He heard me on the steps now and obscenities began pouring from his mouth. Had he no shame?

"…Come on, you bitch, _anything_." His voice was hoarse, painfully dry from so long without water. He craned his head to stare at me, eyes red, dark lines under them. "What the fuck? You turn into a teenage boy?"

I looked elsewhere. He was unpleasant to gaze at, with his legs bent at odd angles, bodily fluids collected between them. "Be quiet."

"Fuck you. I can say whatever the fuck I want." His voice cracked. "If you aren't gonna kill me, get me some fucking water, will you?"

"No."

"Why the fuck not?"

I tilted my head at him. His eyes were furious. "You were clearly left here for a reason. I would not undo the Legion's work."

"Oh, you're with the fucking Legion? Fucking wonderful." He paused to cough. It was grating. "You're just as bad as that dog-headed piece of shit."

"Dog-headed?"

"Yeah, you know, wearing a fucking wolf helmet. Some Legion bullshit, I don't know. He's the one that did all this."

"Oh. Interesting." So this town's fate hadn't been a random act of mere underlings. Someone important did this. Someone whose work I now deeply admired.

"Yeah, it really fucking is." His voice dripped with sarcasm despite his state. I did not care for it. "Get me some fucking water already."

"Get it yourself."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Look at my fucking legs, you bitch."

"I did." I crossed my arms over my now-flat chest and walked to the broken window to peer out of it. The wind was picking up outside, sending the sand into a flurry. "The sink isn't that far. If you truly wanted water, you could crawl."

"Oh, fuck you. Fine, leave, go off to your fucking Legion buddies and have a grand fucking time."

I glanced over my shoulder. "I am not a part of the Legion. Not yet."

"Not yet? Jesus fucking Christ, you're a lunatic. Is that why you got rid of your hair and shit?"

My patience was wearing thin. I would have to go soon, lest I lose it altogether. "Yes."

"I hope they find out and fucking beat _your_ legs in." He grinned, showing discolored teeth. "Or worse. Maybe they'll rape you. Maybe they'll make you a slave."

"Maybe." I shrugged and reached for the doorknob.

"You're really gonna leave without fucking giving me anything."

"Yes, really."

"God. Fuck you. What the fuck's your name, anyway?"

I paused and turned. There was no use in not telling him. And I never lied. _Never_. "Phoenix."

"Yeah? Well fuck you, Phoenix. I hope you rot in hell."


	2. Manu Propria

Thanks for the reviews! Sorry if her name came off as cheesy. Don't worry, there's a reason for it, and it's not "it sounds cool" or any variation thereof.

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II. MANU PROPRIA

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I held onto the ranger's neck just long enough to feel the blood drip down it, hot over my fingers. I lowered his body gently to the ground and fished under his shirt for the dog tags. The other corpse was outside, already picked clean of anything worthwhile, which wasn't much, not to me: tags and caps. I had decided to begin a collection of their identifying necklaces, as I planned to kill a great deal of NCR soldiers. This was only the start.

And what a small start it was. Almost unsatisfying, really. I had hoped for more of a challenge at Charlie but only two rangers occupied the station and neither even raised a finger before I dispatched them. I pursed my lips and tapped my foot on the floor, twirling my knife in my hand. Out of boredom and vague curiosity I searched the rooms, looking for nothing in particular. A few more caps in a desk drawer, two cases of ammunition and grenades – useless to me, but worth pawning – and some clothes that could further hide my sex. The long dark scarf could serve as a head wrap or a facemask. Perfect. It was fully on when I heard noise past the ajar door to the outside world. Talking. Approaching troops. Two, maybe three? And they hadn't yet noticed anything amiss, either too far off or too oblivious.

Running out the front door would be a stupid choice, so I opted to use the far desk as cover. The corpses would send the soldiers into a frenzy, and if they were untrained, as most were, their emotions could get the better of them. If I got lucky, they would split up. And then I could strike. Their voices were louder now, and suddenly frantic. So they had spotted the first body, the one I had left by the gate. She had smiled and waved at me but had not turned to watch me walk by, and I couldn't pass up an exposed back. A few swift jabs and she had dropped, gurgling on blood and spit.

I could hear their footsteps now, cautious, by the entrance to the building. Four pairs. I had misjudged. One kicked the door wide open and the sunlight drifted in, and there was a pause before a series of expletives shot out in the air. The rustle of cloth as one crouched by the dead man. More obscenities. But they didn't seem intent on going off one by one as I had hoped. If I jumped out now I'd be dead within seconds. I could pretend, say I was a terrified visitor caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, but no, that would be lying, and I would never stoop to a lie. I shifted slightly under the desk and felt a weight in my pocket, one of the grenades that I had just acquired. Perhaps they weren't so useless. I pulled the pin and lobbed it over the table, then curled tightly and drew my head between my knees.

I heard the sharp clang as it hit the floor some yards away.

I heard their collective intake of breath.

And then the blast, so _loud_, and then I could hear nothing else but the ringing in my ears. I straightened myself and peered around the corner of the desk. Dust and bits of various objects and bodies were still settling. I shook my head vigorously in an attempt to mute the high-pitched humming that filled my head but it didn't help. I stood, uneasy on my feet at first before I got my bearings. The explosion hadn't reached me, not behind the solid metal, but it left my hands shaking. I gripped them together to calm them and surveyed the destruction.

Three of the four lay motionless, no longer intact. The fourth was in the next room, likely coughing by the way his head was positioned, but I couldn't hear it. I walked to him and he looked up, fear and pain in his eyes, face and body mangled by shrapnel. His lips moved but the buzzing in my ears drowned out whatever words he spoke. I tilted my head, considering him for a moment, then drew the knife from my belt, bent down, grabbed his collar, and slit his throat. I stood. He died at my feet.

I didn't linger any longer than necessary in the station, only taking the time to pull the dog tags from the new corpses. I didn't want to be caught off guard with my sense of hearing so skewed. I left after wiping my blade on one of their uniforms and made my way to the front gate. Then I paused. What had I forgotten? Oh. I frowned. There was nothing to show that _I_ had done this. Anyone could take credit for it. I had to leave a sign, something to show the Legion. And they would be along soon enough to see it – I had spotted a camp some distance out of Nipton, by an old farm. Writing my name would be ridiculous, especially considering that it was hardly a name at all, more of a title, a placeholder for something my mother never gave me. Nothing in my pack was particularly outstanding for a symbol.

Then it struck me: I would improvise with my own being. I stepped into the building again, the smell of the blast still harsh in the air, and went to the man in the other room. His blood was freshest. I knelt and widened the cut in his neck until there was sufficient redness to coat the whole of my right hand, then returned outside. I pressed my hand to the concrete wall. When I pulled it back, the print glistened a bold, deep red. Soon it would dry into a rusty crimson but the sign would remain. I only hoped they would notice it. They had to.

Knife cleaned and hands washed, I climbed up a rocky hillside near the compound and found a perch to rest on. It was hidden well from view and gave me a decent field of vision over the station. Charlie, its name. Strange name for something inhuman, I thought. Sound was returning to my ears now as the ringing faded. The gentle flow of the wind. The cawing of crows picking at the dead. I sat back and relaxed and waited. And waited some more. But I had to stay until they came. I had to know that they would _see_.

Dusk came and turned the sky a furious red, and soon they followed. I saw them crouched, creeping down the hill on the other side of the road, their armor marking them as Legion. Two dogs, a handful of Legionaries, and then one with a distinct helmet. Was it him, the mind behind that masterpiece at Nipton? I couldn't see his headgear from this far off but my heartbeat quickened. They continued their approach, slow and cautious, but they stood straight and looked around when they spotted the first body, the one outside. The crows flew away. They walked past the walls, and yes, _yes_, the helm was a wolf's head. Was it the same man? I could only hope.

They searched the station. They talked, too, but I was much too far to hear what they were saying. One of the men pointed to the handprint, _my_ symbol, and the one with the dog helm examined it. Of course I couldn't gauge his reaction from here, but his posturing seemed curious enough. Confident and strong, too. A man I could grow fond of. I smiled. I had piqued his interest. My plan was working.


	3. Arbiter

HI GUYS WHAT'S GOIN ON

Oh god I'm so so _so_ sorry it's taken me like a billion years to update this. D: Figures that when I'd finally get around to uploading it the site would crap itself.

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III. ARBITER

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The moon shone as a faint sliver in the sky by the time I situated myself near Primm, like a slice of pale gray cut into the abyss, all the better for an unnoticed approach. My plan was neatly laid out in my mind, the result of days spent mulling in Novac. Such a small town proved suitable as a resting spot, as nobody bothered to talk to me but the dark-skinned shopkeeper whose name I didn't care to remember. But even he had his uses, supplying me with items of value – food, rope, matches, gauze, alcohol – and mentioning the situation in Primm. The vague summary he gave was built upon by the radio in my rented room. Details filtered in slowly, of the prison riots, of the town turning to ruin, of the NCR stationed there, waiting, idle, _negligent_.

They deserved a visit.

And so I crouched behind one of the ruined walls, form cloaked by the dark, fingers tensed around my knife. The shifts would change soon, providing the soldiers maintained the pattern they established throughout the day, when I had watched from farther off. No surprise if they didn't. Their commanding officer clearly didn't hold responsibility in high regard if he did nothing to push the convicts from the town. From that I drew inspiration. Charlie was quick, improvised, effective but dirty. It lacked the beauty of Nipton. I would have to improve to truly capture the attention of the Legion, of Caesar, and of – perhaps most exciting to consider – the wolf-headed warrior whose work I so passionately admired.

The camp was understaffed and overworked. Perfect, really. The guards switched on time and I moved in closer, behind a small pile of rubble, before the new batch got into place. The two fresh ones swayed on their feet, weary; I recognized them from a watch earlier in the day and they likely hadn't slept since then. One stayed nearby while the other walked to the slanted road, and the near one turned to watch him go.

I moved quickly. Before he could turn again, my free hand was around his face, over his mouth, silencing his last gasp for breath as the blade cut a deep line across his neck. His body shook and I held him until he went still. It didn't take long. I lowered him gently to the dirt to avoid sound, then followed the trail of the other guard down to the underpass, where the dark was thickest. I could see decently enough in it but he apparently could not, and he tilted his head and spoke a quiet greeting, and the bloody knife in my hand caught light for a split second and flashed and only then did he tense and draw his rifle up. I ducked and lunged, slamming his legs out from under him as a shot rang out in the dark. He clutched to the gun until his head cracked against the pavement, then his grip loosened, but still he struggled against me. I drove the metal deep into his chest and he clawed at my hands in desperation and gurgled near silent protests but it was done.

The gun had gone off, though.

I crouched over the body, as still as could be, and listened for any sign of movement from the camp. It would be easy enough to run away now, to avoid capture. No. A coward's retreat. I waited in the dark, hovering over my kill, but nothing came to my ears. Another side effect of the soldiers' long shifts, I assumed – once they were asleep, they were very much _asleep_. Or perhaps they were used to random nighttime outbursts from the convicts on the other side. Either way worked out in my favor. Once sufficient time had passed, I yanked the dogtag's from the man's still-warm neck and rose to my feet.

No more guards stood in my path. I moved carefully to the tents, hunched, knife at ready, tensed for any sign of danger, but as I crept closer it was clear that there was none. Through the cloth wall of the first, larger tent I could hear heavy breathing, snoring, the sounds of peaceful slumber. Good to know where the bulk of the troops slept, but I wasn't interested in them. I had eyes on higher-ranked prey.

The interior of the officer's tent felt stuffy, closed off to the cool airflow of the desert night, warmed by two sleeping forms. Too dark to see well but I could hear their breathing and I followed it. I only wanted _one_ of them, and I didn't want to kill the wrong one. I needed their leader to make this work.

Important men always took the prime position. I took my chance with the man further into the tent. He seemed peaceful in his sleep and even in the first few seconds of consciousness, but then he bristled with the realization that a knife was at his throat and a hand was over his mouth. He stirred, attempting to move away, and I pressed the blade down harder so it indented his skin and he went still again. I leaned in close, so close I could feel his shallow, rapid breath on my cheek, and the whispered questioning began.

By the time I left the tent, he and his subordinate were bound and gagged on the ground inside, helpless, at my misery. The fear I sensed from them was exhilarating. I had _power_, something so rare to me. I had told them that it would be up to their soldiers to save them now, that they would have to rely on the response of their underlings, just as the people of Primm had relied on _them_, only to be let down, dragged from their homes, now hiding in fear like mice fleeing from a hungry cat. The riots should have been quelled, I told them. The convicts should have been dealt with long before they arrived in town. They couldn't have, he had said, his forehead slick with sweat.

I judged them negligent.

The gauze lit up bright, illuminating the bottle of whiskey that it was stuffed into. A moment to admire the flame and the terror it revealed on their faces, and then I flung it forward at them, dropped the flap, and ran back to watch.

It went up so _fast_, encompassed in beautiful orange and red and yellow before anyone so much as poked their head out of the other tent. I couldn't help but grin underneath the scarf wrapped around my face. But I couldn't linger too long before making my mark. I couldn't risk capture. They'd beat me, kill me, unwilling to heed my reasoning. Of course they'd deserved it, deserved _death_, even more than the too-carefree rangers at the station. These ones had sat idle while the townsfolk cried out for help a hundred yards away, and then while the escaped prisoners set up grand fortifications. Best to pull the tick out immediately. Wait too long and its head will get embedded.

The flame was spreading elsewhere. Smoke rose overhead, a great grey beast in the sky, a cloud that smelled like death. Not so much as Nipton. Frantic, half-awake cries pulled me back to reality, away from the fantasies I longed for, and I shook my head and bolted to the guard by the edge of the camp, my first kill of the night. Knife against his skin and the blood flowed free, and with my crimson hand I pressed against one of the old concrete walls. A few seconds to admire the shape and then I hurried to the bridge across to Primm. The leader had said that he wasn't responsible for what had happened there, that the convicts were the ones I really wanted, that I should take their lives, not his own. I reassured him that the NCR would not be the only ones suffering casualties this night.

I turned one last time to glance at the fire and the smoke and the wonderful _chaos_ of it all before moving onto the dark overpass. A click. My blood stopped cold and every muscle in my body went taut when I spotted the faint orange dot of light by my feet. Of course it would be trapped, to keep the enemy from sneaking in at night. _Of course it would be. _Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

I dove for cover.


End file.
